


Café

by maximum_overboner



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Lighthearted, Other, Sugary sweet, as requested, tsundere pap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 20:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6439645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I-it's not as if Papyrus likes you or anything, h-human!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Café

**Author's Note:**

> An anon requested Tsundere Papyrus, and I couldn't make him too tsun, but I tried my best! I tried a more passive approach for the reader as part of a suggestion, please tell me if you prefer the dialogue or the more vague approach! Hope you like some fluff!

 You sat in the café, having been requested to wear something ‘BUSINESS-CASUAL, OR CASUAL-CASUAL, OR FANCY-CASUAL I GUESS? ONE OF THOSE, I DON’T KNOW THE DIFFERENCE’, but the description had confused you, and thus you decided to wear what you would normally wear. You waited, a cup of coffee to your left and your smart phone to your right. You tapped away on it absentmindedly, checking messages and e-mails, hoping the coffee would burn out the anticipation you always felt before meeting someone, that made time stretch in front of you. It buzzed, Papyrus’ name running across the top of the screen. You smiled to yourself before opening it.

 ‘HUMAN! I WILL BE TEN MINUTES LATE, I GOT CAUGHT UP AT HOME, SORRY! THIS IS JUST TO LET YOU KNOW! I CAN TALK WITHOUT A LARNX AND I REFUSE TO TELL UNDYNE HOW!’

 You cocked your eyebrow, confused, before the phone buzzed in your palm again.

 ‘SORRY, UNDYNE IS TYPING THESE OUT FOR ME, HUMAN SMART-PHONES CAN’T PICK UP ON MY SKELETAL DIGITS, WHICH I THINK IS A LITTLE PREJUDICED. UNDYNE? UNDYNE DID YOU SEND IT? DO A LITTLE HEART EMOTICON. NOT ONE THAT MAKES ME LOOK TOO DESPERATE. A CASUAL ONE. I’M PLAYING IT COOL. ARE THERE HEART EMOTICONS WITH SUNGLASSES? THERE SHOULD BE.’

 You looked to the message, the new one, that had flit in. There was a dying fish emoticon, flopping away in your phone. You chortled.

 ‘UNDYNE THAT IS THE LITERALLY THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF WHAT I REQUESTED. YOU HAD AN ENTIRE LIBRARY, A LIMITLESS WELL OF LITTLE FACES TO SEND AND YOU SENT THE FISH. WAS THAT DELIBERATE? WHAT IF THEY THINK I’M INSULTING THEM? ARE FISH KNOWN FOR BEING ESPECIALLY ROMANTIC? NO OFFENSE UNDYNE, I’M SURE YOU ARE.’

 You sipped your coffee, enjoying the show.

 ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE TYPING OUT EVERYTHING?! I DIDN’T SAY THAT! WELL, I DID, BUT I MEANT THE RELEVANT STUFF! STOP LAUGHING, UNDYNE, YOU’RE MAKING ME LOOK LIKE A BABBLING LUNATIC! GIVE ME MY PHONE! IT’S VERY HARD TO PLAY IT COOL WHEN YOU DO THIS, STOP LAUGHING, STOP IT!’

 There was a pause, that lasted ten seconds, before you were bombarded with gibberish, presumably as they wrestled for the phone. You texted back an ‘ok’, to let them know you were aware, and waited, looking out of the window at the rain. It was nice. Grey, but warmly so.

 Papyrus arrived, fashionably late in a pea-coat, face frozen into a brooding, haughty frown, a fake one. You knew that because you had seen him walk up the street, pacing back and forth in front of the café giddily as he psyched himself up, from your chair, and you laughed all the while. He had only noticed after he had attempted to walk in, faltered, slapped himself across the face, then saw you doubled over. He was forced to walk in, then.  

 He coughed, stirring at his tea, pushing a plate with a small slice of cake towards you, that he had bought at the counter. Play it cool. That was what he did. Stay frosty, then warm up, that’s what his dating book said. He thought of something sufficiently frosty to say. “I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW I AM NOT HERE FOR ROMANTIC REASONS, AND AM NOT HERE TO ENGAGE IN A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP WITH YOU.”

 He cringed. He had aimed for frosty, overshot the mark and ended up marooned in the south pole.

 You would be lying if you said your face didn’t fall a little. He picked up on it, having flubbed his approach. Cool and cold, cool and cold, that won people over. The plan was originally from the ‘treat them mean, keep them keen’ school of thought, but he got weepy when he thought about saying anything genuinely hostile to you, and so decided against it. He was suave, not boorish. Apparently. “W-WELL, I MEAN, M-MAYBE THAT’S NOT STRICTLY TRUE, BUT STILL--”

 You stopped entirely. Your face lit up. Immediately, you began grilling him, giddy, clapping your hands a little, the entire café staring at you and the skeleton that was as tall, thin and looming as bamboo.

 “I-I MEAN, I, BOY, OK, THIS IS, I--!”

 You leaned over the table to pull him into a hug, inhaling his smell, and he gripped you back tightly in return, his grip loosened for a second, just enough to pull back. He kissed your cheek with a flustered huff, before planting another on your lips, soft, awkward and sincere. When you resumed your place at the table, you were holding hands. You asked if he was your boyfriend.

 “I-I, I-- UM, I--”

 He cut himself off by giving you another smooch, which was a sufficient answer.  


End file.
